


Psychological Warfare

by heavvymetalqueen



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: BDSM, Eye Gouging, Eye Trauma, Gore, M/M, minor vomiting in gas mask
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8453887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavvymetalqueen/pseuds/heavvymetalqueen
Summary: Does he ever think about anything else(he does not)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "Psycho Mantis being deeply and personally offended by Ocelot's mind/subconscious, chews him out for it, Ocelot continues giving no fucks"

Ocelot is nude, kneeling on a grimy concrete floor, wrists tied behind his back and to his bound ankles. A leather collar is closed tight around his neck, another rope tying it to his hands and feet, pulling his spine taut, his chest out. A chain hangs between the nipple clamps biting into his flesh, tinkling with every ragged breath. 

Heavy booted steps sound around him, their owner admiring his handywork. A broad rough hand touches his hair, twisting it between its fingers and tugging, just enough to startle but not enough to hurt. Not yet. 

“How are you doing, Adam?” rumbles Big Boss, his voice thick with arousal. 

Ocelot does not speak. His breath hitches. 

“Good boy.” Big Boss steps in front of him, his pants not doing anything to hide his erection. “Such a well trained kitty.”

Ocelot swallows. 

“Use only your mouth,” says Big Boss, his voice like a lash. “Or else.”

Ocelot’s eyes look up adoringly at Big Boss as he steps closer, his crotch in his face. He’s almost purring as he takes the zipper in his teeth and pulls it down, sticking his nose in the open fly, mouthing against the hard cock, licking it into his mouth....

_this is repulsive_

Ocelot looks up from the gun he’s cleaning, and towards the corner of the room Mantis is reading him from. He’s supposed to be invisible, but the old bastard seems to know exactly where he is. 

_did you know I was probing you_

Ocelot smiles, his eyes crinkling and his mustache twitching. 

_disgusting_ , hisses Mantis before phasing out of the room. He needs a long mind cleansing session after that. 

He tries again, a few days later. He’s promised Liquid he would figure out what the old man’s secret game plan is, and he doesn’t want to disappoint him. Ocelot is absentmindedly petting one of Wolf’s dogs, and Mantis knows it’s his best shot. People always let down their defenses with animals. 

He takes a deep breath, sinks into the old man’s mind....

Big Boss is tied to the ceiling, shirtless and dirty, blood pouring down the gruesome clump of burned meat that sits where his right eye is supposed to be. He looks young, and scared, and in pain. 

“Snake,” whispers Ocelot, so young he’s almost unrecognizable, all sharp cheekbones and blonde hair and reckless bravado. He brushes long leather clad fingers along Big Boss’ bloody jawline. “You look so beautiful like this.”

“P-please,” croaks Big Boss, his voice hoarse and breaking. 

“Shhh. I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers, pressing against his thigh, dragging his hard cock on him as he leans closer, brushes Big Boss’ lips with his own, and plunges his thumb into his eye socket. 

Big Boss screams, a broken wail of agony, and Ocelot purrs, grinding on his thigh and twisting his thumb into the gore, blood and fluids pouring on his gloves....

_you are absolutely reprehensible, old man_

“Says the one looking into my mind,” hums Ocelot airily, still rubbing the dog’s ears as if he isn’t thinking of the filthiest scenarios in full gory detail. 

Mantis leaves in a huff. This isn’t over yet. 

But throughout the month, every time he attempts to catch Ocelot open and unaware, he gets a brainful of the most repulsive fantasies he’s ever had to endure. 

Ocelot sits at the table during a team meeting, boots on the table and bored expression - and in his mind, he’s bending Big Boss over his desk in FoxHound, pressing his face into important documents as he pounds into him. He supervises the scientists, terrifying them with his calm gun spinning, and he’s thinking in painstaking detail about Big Boss’ cock, detailing every vein and fold of skin, every tiny teeth mark he’s left in forty years. Mantis can _taste_ it, and vomits a little in his gas mask before he’s out of range. He tortures some poor sod, and all he’s thinking about is caning Big Boss’ ass until it’s red and glowing, and then eating him out. He sleeps, and dreams of Big Boss rutting over him in oppressive jungle heat, teeth closed at the nape of his neck like an animal. 

“I’m _pretty sure_ he has some sort of psychic lock set up to keep out probing,” he says after what must be the tenth attempt, still shaken by the _incredibly vivid_ Ocelot memory of getting spitroasted by Big Boss and Master Miller, of all people. 

“Hm,” mutters Liquid, leafing through reports. “Disappointing, but I kind of expected it. Did you manage to find out anything? Anything at all?”

Mantis scrunches what little is left of his nose behind the mask. “Only that he’s fucked your dad. A _lot_.”

The look of horror on Liquid’s face is almost enough to make up for what he’s had to endure. 

Almost.


End file.
